Page 146 of Pack Choice

“They don’t have any other goons working with them?”

“As far as we know, no.” I watch as River holds up his phone and examines the screen. “We need a distraction, something that will lure the two alphas out so we can snoop in and rescue Molly.”

“Shit, if they’ve laid one finger on her …” Colt trails off before finishing his threat but we can all imagine. It’s what we’re all feeling.

We reach the harbor. There are fewer people here. The boats and nearby shops and cafés empty; most people are out lining the racetrack. River scrutinizes the map on his phone.

“Can you tell where she is?” I ask, resisting the urge to snatch the cell from his hand.

“Yeah, this thing’s pretty high tech, pretty precise. Same tech they use for recording our times.” He peers up from his phone and peers along the row of moored boats. “It’s that way, looks to be the eleventh boat down.”

“So what’s the distraction going to be?” Colt asks and I shake my head, struggling for an answer.

“Me!” River says.

41

Ford

“You?”I say. “How?”

“Ford,” River says, slapping his hand down on my shoulder. “I’m the biggest fucking racing star on this planet. I just won my fifty-first race. Causing a distraction is a piece of cake.”

“They know you’re connected to the omega.”

“And so they’ll be expecting me,” he says, cracking his knuckles.

I look at Colt. “You got any better ideas?”

“Nope.”

I glare at River. “Don’t do anything stup–”

“I won’t.”

“If you fuck up, then Molly–”

River growls at me. “I’m not going to fuck this up. Trust me.”

“River,” Colt says, “just be careful okay, buddy.”

“Me?” River says, “careful is my middle name.” And he grins again knowing that’s utter bullshit, but then the serious expression returns and he thumbs behind him. “Santos and the others will have my back covered. Just make sure you get on that boat and grab our girl.”

“We’re going to need about ten minutes,” I tell him.

River glances at his watch and then nods. Then he beckons to his heavies, reaching inside the jacket of one and pulling out a gun. He hands it to Colt, their eyes meeting, before he sets off down the harbor walkway, adding a sway to his pace that makes him look as if he’s downed a bottle of vodka.

“What the hell is he doing?” Colt hisses, tucking the gun inside the waistband of his pants. I lift my hand. I don’t know why, but I trust River. Okay, having a tracker placed on Molly is some shady shit, but I have a feeling it shows just how crazy he is about her and that means he’ll do anything to ensure we get her back.

There are no signs of life on the boat we believe is the one. The gate is locked; the door to the cabin closed. Blinds drawn across the windows. River keeps up the pretense anyway, halting in front of the boat and staggering forward.

“Hey mother fuckers,” he shouts. “I know you’re in there and I know you have my girl. Get your shitheads out here now.”

Nothing happens and River yells again, this time a stream of curse words so blue he’d embarrass the devil himself.

“Maybe it’s the wrong boat,” Colt whispers as we stand out of sight. “Or maybe this isn’t going to work.”

But then a blind twitches.